


The Dimachaerus

by Knight_of_Lesbos



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ancient Rome, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Death, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Futanari, G!P, Gay, Gay Male Character, Girl Penis, Girls Kissing, Gladiators, Hermaphrodites, Historical, Historical Figures, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Long, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Oral Sex, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Pain, Rough Sex, Sex, Slavery, Useless Lesbians, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 23:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21024299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knight_of_Lesbos/pseuds/Knight_of_Lesbos
Summary: Taken prisoner during the First Dacian War, Diesema is thrused into the Arena marked for death. With each fight that she wins the of an insult the gods she becomes. Will she survive?  Find love? Both?(Hate Summaries. Please just read.)





	The Dimachaerus

**Author's Note:**

> This is historical fiction. I own Diesema, Flavia, Mucapor, and some of the other minor characters.

Crisp air scorched Diesema throat as she ran fanatically through the large, slightly inclined field. Sanguine fluid steadily dripped down her thigh from a gash brought about by a lucky legionary’s gladius. The limp that accompanies it made finding a foothold in the slick mud a challenge. The feet of the roman invaders pounded the blood-soaked soil as they methodically marched after the retreating Dacian force was the only thing keeping her from collapsing from pain and exhaustion. Ahead of her, she could see her fellow tribe mate, Mucapor she believed from the helmet, making a break for the forest that surrounds the edge of the field. She struggled to maintain her hobbling steps as a command split through the acid air.

“CLAUDUM” The command cut through the din of rhythmic march that coerced Diesemas every step abruptly vanished, and she could not help but look back at her pursuers as the deep purple helmet crest of the Centurion that stood to the far right of the first line that made the Cohort was the first thing drew her eyes. Diesema felt herself slowing to a halt, and she was not the only one. A majority of what remained of the small defending Dacian force had not completed the retreat to the forest, and much like her, the sight of a three hundred and sixty strong Cohort was enough to make them pause. Some even started to creep closer in an attempt to form a line twenty paces away from the shield wall, useless hope spurring them forward. Diesema uses this strange pause to catch her breath and continue her inspection of these men that have invaded her homeland. Next to the Centurion stood a man spear-like stick with a gold hand at the top, and several gold and silver circles lining the shaft with red cloth softly drifting in the breeze. The man baring this strange symbol appeared to be dress as a regular Roman soldier accept, he carried a buckler instead of a scutum, with no weapon, and on his head was an animal that Diesema had never seen before. The way the sun hit the golden mane of this creature sends a twang of sorrow through her heart as images of a childhood long gone play through her mind. Golden fields of wheat dance around her, the rough grains scratch against her fingertips, and she can hear the voices of her mother and father in the furthest reaches of her mind.

“Cotiso” The sound of her false name breaks the spell of days long gone and snaps her back to the present. 

“Mucapor” she greeted deepening her voice, falling into the persona that has defined her for the past two years. “I see that Derzelas hasn’t called you home yet.”

“It would seem that Pleistoros desires me to kill a few more Romans for him before I am called” The giant man mused, his strong arms crossed over his broad, barreled chest, as he thoughtfully stroking his dark, closely trimmed beard. The couple continued to converse softly as their comrades began to form up around them. A cursory glance told her that only about one hundred out of the two hundred and fifty original force had survived the initial crash. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she examined the two hundred and forty Romans that were left. They had known that this was going to be an unwinnable battle, but someone needs to act as a distraction so that King Decebalus could finish fortifying Tapae for the Roman assault. They had hoped to draw one of the nine legions away from their king, but their bluff failed.

“What do you think we should do, Cotiso?” Mucapors rich voice once again breaking Diesema from her thoughts.

“The way I see it we have a better chance of winning this battle than a scattered retreat across five miles back to Tapae.” She exclaimed, resting her hands on the worn hilts of her flax and sica, and turning to face the men that had gathered at her back. “After all we are wolves are, we not brothers?” Faint murmurs of agreement rose up from Diesemas brothers in arms. She needed more; her brothers were acting like sheep. It was time to remind them of who they really were. “The blood of the Great White Wolf runs through our veins, and we all know that a wolf hunts better in a pack!” The cheers that rose up were louder this time. The ones that had shields began to pound a war beat, and those without howled praise to Zamolxis. “We make our stand here, in a battle SO fierce that Pleistoros will beam with pride as we enter the gates of their realm!” The Dacian force fell into a frenzy. It was as if they could already taste Roman bool on their tongues.

“SCUTA” The command sprung from the lead Centurion as Diesema turned to face the Roman Cohort. Their shields fell into place creating a near-impenetrable wall. A wicked smile crept across her dirt covered face as she drew her falx and sica her brothers pressed closer in anticipation. Beside her Mucapor readied his polearm its three-foot blade glinting in the sunlight and let out a war cry that could shake mountains.

“LET US SEE IF THEIR GODS CAN PROTECT THEM FROM THE WRATH OF US IMMORTALS!” It was like Mucapor had broken their chains for the Dacian defenders launched forward with no fear in their heart; crashing into the Roman wall with no regard for their lives. After all, why would an immortal fear the steel of a mere man? An animalistic scream slid passed Diesemas lips as she pressed into the Roman legionary in front of her. Adrenaline dulling the deep, still bleeding, cut on her thigh. The curved side of flax and pulls the shield out of the way just enough to force her sica into the neck of the legionary. A spurt of blood trail as he falls to the ground. Wasting no time, she lunged forward through the small gap and ducking into a crouch as a spear punctures the air where her head uses to be. Taking advantage of her new position Diesema swings her flax and sica in a wide arch catching the knees of legionary in front of her and lodging them into the legs those on either side of her. A quick slash severed their hamstrings followed by a smooth upward thrust piercing just below the jaw was all it took to send them to meet their gods. In her peripheral vision, she could see Mucapor hook the heel, skillfully tripping and decapitating a legionary to her left. However, even such a short distraction on the battlefield can prove to be the last thing one sees. A shield to the face quickly reminded Diesema of this crucial lesson. The stars of Bendis realm dance across her vision as she struggled to stay standing. In her momentary blindness, the hum of battle around her reached a clarity she had never know to be possible.

“COTISO, DUCK!” The command filtering above the clashing of bodies, and swords just as Diesema freed her head from the vail of stars that blinded her, the steel edge of a gladius swinging towards her head. Her heart thundered in her ears as she dropped into a crouch the gladius passing mere inches from her head. Before she has a chance to retaliate against her assailant a splash of blood appears from under the roman armpit as he fell to the muddy ground dead Mucapor fills the space he uses to stand.

“I didn’t think my voice reached your ears brother” He stated as he offered a hand. Grasping his wrist Diesema hoisted herself off the ground wincing as pain radiates from her thigh.

“I was blind, not deaf” She huffed. A frown crept on to her face as she surveyed what was left of the Dacian forces. A couple of small skirmishes were still occurring on the edge of the circle of Roman shields that surrounded herself, Mucapor and ten of their brothers. Slowly but surely the Shield wall was forcing moving closer. Forcing those who were left to stand back to back. Trying to fight their way out would mean a slaughter. The twelve that were left didn’t need words as they decided their fate, and it only took a few seconds to reach an agreement. They were still alive because Derzelas had taken the souls that had been marked to join Zamolxe in his realm. If they were still alive it means that he had a plan for them, and they were going to see it fulfilled. With a final nod of agreement, Diesema steps forward, gathering her flax and sica in her hands before piercing them into the ground. One by one pack brothers follows with Mucapor, being the last one, to relinquish his weapon. A tense silence falls over the two groups.

“What do you think are they waiting for?” Mucapor whispered in her ears his beard scratching the side of her face, as she scanned the Roman line.

“There.” She answers with a nod “That who they are waiting for.” It was like she had spoken words infused with magic because the wall parted allowing for the centurion from before to make his way towards the defeated group. Several legionaries flanked him carrying several paces of rope with them. The Centurion halted his steps right in front of Diesema, studying her with a piercing brown gaze

“Ligatis manibus eorum” He commanded his Optio standing at his side. The Centurions eyes leaving her as the Optio began to tie the rope around her wrists and then kneeling to tie her ankles, leaving just enough slack for Diesema to move her hand from her waist to lower half of her chest. The Optio repeated this with each of her brothers that now stood behind her in after much prodding from the legionaries that had accompanied him. After all, twelve of the Dacian wolves were secured the Centurion turned making his way through the wall; on the other side, two horses waited just beyond. The man with the pelt of gold on his person stood next to the horse, the symbol he carried still held aloft with pride, but the man himself held no mark of the battle that had taken place just minutes before.

“Forma sursum. Nos iter ad castra, et tunc nos navigare ad domum!” The Centurion cried as he mounted on his horse settling into its saddle. A thankful cheer rose from the soldier are they quickly broke the wall and created two columns behind where the prisoners stood. The Optio mounted the other horse the rope still in his hand. Even if he were to lose his grip, they would not get far with their legs tied and a cohort hunting them. The legionaries settled into their formation ready for the march that lay before them the Centurion turned his horse away from his cohort.

“Deinceps” At the order the two columns stepped forward as one. A sharp tug of the rope causes Diesema to stumble as she is tugged harshly forward. A heavy limp accompanied her every step the deep cut on her thigh radiating pain through the length of her leg as the adrenaline drains from her body. The march is slow trees blur with the hills as the group cuts a path through them. Mucapor murmurs words of encouragement each time her leg threatens to give out. The fire in her chest burns too hot for her to show weakness in front of the men that invaded her homeland. However, with each step, Diesema feels her mind drifting further and further away from her suffering body. Gradually slipping into times long gone, she remembers how the beams of golden sunlight would fell through green leaves as they swayed in the wind when she hunted in the forest near her village. How her father had taught her to fight, and her mother to hunt. Playing in the mud with her siblings, sister Adila and brother Brasus, and the song their mother would sing as they fell asleep. The bodies of her parents and brother littering the blood-soaked ground outside the smoldering remains of their hut. Her sister was nowhere to be found, to this day Diesema preys to Kotys every night that her sister is somehow alive and safe.

She is pulled from her stream of memories as shout reach her ears. As they get closer to the commotion, she starts to pick up different conversations in Latin. In the back of her mind, she made a note to start learning her captor’s language as they marched into the heart of the Roman encamp. Diesema rolled her eyes as the Centurion puffed his chest out and sat straighter on his horse. Parading around like a concerning hero when he wasn’t even a part of the main battle. The cohort stopped in front of a big tent that stood near the middle of the sea of tents. Two guards stood at the mouth of the tent only sparing them a quick glance. The Centurion dismounted and after give his Optio some quiet instructions strides past the guards into the tent.

“Cotiso, how’s your leg doing?” Mucapor questions from his place behind her. “We have been marching for several hours. There were a couple of times I thought it was going to give out on ya.” He explained as she glanced down at the angry red gash that marred her thigh. It desperately needed to be cleaned, stitched and wrapped before infection set in. However, she doubted that the Romans were going to waste medical supplies on them, so she would have to clean it the next time they decided to give them food and drink. Before she could respond to the soldier at her side jabs the shaft of his pilum.

“Move” He ordered before stepping in front of her, leading the way. The rugged group of prisoners had no choice, but to follow their captors.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing/posting something like this. Leave comments if you want, but I can not guarantee that I will respond. This story will be updated when I can fine time while going to school and working full time.


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